


The Adventure Of The Red Leech

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [63]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, Fraud, Impersonation, M/M, Nobility, Nuns, Servants, Slow Burn, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 01:39:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15523239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Nun of that! Sherlock is asked to investigate a case responsible for a man's mental breakdown. It all leads to one of the most prestigious families in London and a repulsive red leech – or two!





	The Adventure Of The Red Leech

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Llynn22anne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llynn22anne/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

One of the cases that, sadly, did not make this new set of stories was the one referenced by Watson as 'the King of Scandinavia'. It reflected the fact that my brother Sherlock undertook investigations for people at all levels of society, from top to bottom, and became justly renowned for refusing more than one case from the so-called 'great and the good' because it disinterested him. This particular investigation was particularly delicate – especially given who the guilty party turned out to be.

Arthur, the current Duke of Wellington, has most graciously granted his permission for the publication of this story.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Doctor John Hamish Watson, M.D._

I have in the course of several previous cases mentioned the role played by the Middleton's information agency, of whom the efficient operative (and thankfully for my continued existence, the efficient assassin) Miss Day was our most frequent point of contact. I knew also that the driving force behind the organization was Miss Richards who ran things with an efficiency that most governments could never hope to attain. An agency like Middleton's must, I supposed, have many operatives out there to gather the information that was its lifeblood. However, definitely one of the most surprising of them came to provide out next case, again very soon after our last one. It was a nun!

“This is Sister Louisa”, Holmes said. “She works for Miss Richards.”

I felt myself instinctively standing up straighter and trying to look neater than I normally did. I did wonder just what use someone who lived in a nunnery might have been when it came to gathering information, but fortunately the lady herself provided the answer.

“The sisterhood runs a small hospital in the Highbury area of London”, she said, clearly amused at my attempts to make the best of myself in her presence. “Much of what happens there is small beer, but recently a patient arrived whose case was most curious. I spoke with Miss Richards, and after some inquiries on her part she agreed that I should approach you to see if you might investigate the matter further.”

“What is the issue at hand?” Holmes asked.

“The gentleman's name is Mr. Benjamin Fitzpatrick”, she said. “Half-Irish, although there is no indication of that in his speech or manner. Until recently he was one of the people in charge or running the business affairs of a certain high society lady. It was not a happy appointment; although he is married with two children he is a most highly-strung young gentleman, and a series of ill-judged practical jokes by someone in his household have, as they say, driven him over the edge. Fortunately we expect him to make a complete recovery although he will not be able to resume his former post.”

“Which lady did he work for?” I inquired. The sister sighed heavily.

 _”That_ is the problem”, she said heavily. “Lady Anastasia Wellington!”

Ah. That made matters considerably more difficult. The victor of the great battle of Waterloo had died some four decades ago, his reputation perhaps surprisingly untarnished by his later venture into politics. The family name was still revered even though the current Duke Henry was fairly nondescript; when another of his relatives had been falsely accused of fraud by one newspaper, it had been forced to close down by the ensuing public outrage. Lady Anastasia was descended from one of the original duke's brothers but as she was also the last of that particular line she had attained more importance that she otherwise might have done. She was at the time approaching thirty years of age, and had made no impact on the society pages that I could remember.

“What both I and Miss Richards think”, the sister said, “is that someone in that household is committing fraud, and that they wished to prevent Mr. Fitzpatrick from uncovering it.”

“Who amongst the lady's household might that be?” Holmes asked.

“I did of course wonder if Mr. Fitzpatrick himself might be involved”, the sister said, “and using his illness as some sort of cover. I think that unlikely however; as his wife once remarked to me, he has no imagination whatsoever. He was one one of three people entrusted with Lady Anastasia's financial affairs. The second was an Irish landowner over to England called Mr. Peyton Hafford; he has some sort of distant connection to Miss Maureen O'Flanagan, Lady Anastasia's companion. Certain of his actions may be worth looking into, according to Miss Richards. The third person is Mr. John Masham, who worked at the seminary in Ireland where Lady Anastasia completed her basic education before she attended finishing school in Switzerland. He is quite trusted by the duke, apparently.”

“It all sounds quite intriguing”, Holmes said. “Kindly inform Miss Richards that we shall take this case.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The next day we set out to investigate the three people in charge of Lady Anastasia’s financial affairs.

“Does the lady live alone?” I asked as our carriage weaved through the ever-busy London traffic.

“No”, Holmes said. “She has the companion Sister Louisa mentioned yesterday, Miss Maureen O'Flanagan, a girl from her home village in Ireland whom she attended school and grew up with. And there is also her step-brother, from her mother’s short-lived first marriage, a Mr. Sean O’Reilly. Not a blood Wellington and with no part in running things, but still close to her. Plus of course a whole bevy of servants.”

“Which of the three will we look at first?” I asked.

“We shall take advantage of Mr. Firzpatrick's indisposition and go to Highbury”, he said. “He is as Sister Louisa said arguably the least likely of the three; Miss Richard's excellent notes state that he was comptroller of the Mornington Estate's Irish interests for some years, and only recently took that role in Lady Anastasia’s affairs that ended in his hospitalization. He could quite easily have enriched himself in his former post so there seems little motive in his case. Still, one never knows.”

I nodded.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

We eventually reached Lea Avenue in Highbury, where our target lived with his family, a wife and two daughters. Holmes pulled me into a small café, where he mentioned to the waitress that he was trying to find an old friend of his father, a Mr. Fitzpatrick. The girl did not know him but she advised that we ask at the flower shop on the corner because (and I quote) ‘that Mrs. Allison knows everything about everyone, the nosy old bat’. 

Two decidedly indifferent cups of coffee later we repaired to the aforementioned flower shop where we met Mrs. Allison. I have to say that persuading her to talk about one of her fellow denizens of the area was not in any way a problem. Persuading her to stop talking on the other hand.....

Of course Mrs. Allison knew the Fitzpatricks _very_ well. Mr. Benjamin was 'a lovely man', and he worked for some rich lady in the city. Almost certainly famous, Mrs. Allison sniffed, as he most tiresomely refused to talk to anyone (her) about it. Mrs. Fitzpatrick was a housewife who stayed at home and looked after their two young daughters; she also penned a monthly article for a local paper and did good works for the church, although her garden was 'so-so'. They lived at number twenty-three and kept a large golden retriever called Boris (Mrs. Allison sniffed disapprovingly at such a _foreign_ name).

There was one interesting piece of information amidst the gossip. Mrs. Allison said that the family had recently had the front of the house repainted, and some structural work done just prior to that. Such things were, I knew, not cheap, and I wondered where the money to fund such things might have come from. Although Holmes had a possible answer to that.

“From Miss Richards' notes”, he said as we made our escape from Mrs Allison’s monotonous drone, “I see that Lady Anastasia is quite generous when it comes to Christmases and birthdays. Her companion, step-brother and servants all receive generous gifts for both, and Mr. Fitzpatrick's birthday falls only a few days after Christmas so he would have had access to quite a sizeable lump sum.”

“Oh”, I said disappointedly.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

It was a short journey to our next destination, as Mr. Peyton Hafford lived in nearby Crouch Hill. But once again we were not to see him directly; instead Holmes took us to a small office which, according to the dirty brass plaque on the outside wall, was run by a small fellow by the name of Mr. Leonard Herbert. The whole thing looked run-down if not run-over, which was surprising as shortly before we had arrived Holmes had informed me that Mr. Herbert owned a whole set of shops and offices in this part of London. I really would never have guessed.

“Greetings, Mr. Holmes”, he beamed at my friend. “And of course your illustrious medical scribe, Doctor Watson. How may I be of service to you gentleman?”

We both sat down.

“I would of course fully understand if you are unable to comply with my request”, Holmes said, “but I wish to know as much as you can tell me about one Mr. Peyton Hafford.”

I must have been getting better at reading people because I spotted the briefest glimmer of unease on the man’s face.

“The gentleman who rents offices at number two, Findon Street?” he asked. “He moved in a little over two years ago. I am afraid that I cannot say exactly what he does – I take little direct interest in my tenants’ actions unless they are of a criminal nature and try to respect their privacy – but he pays his rent on time, unlike some.”

“Yet there is something about him that worries you”, Holmes said shrewdly. “May we know what it is?”

The man hesitated.

“His hours”, he said at last. “He is rarely in his shop, from what the other tenants tell me, and the days he visits vary somewhat. I made some inquiries, and discovered that hardly anyone has been seen entering or leaving the establishment, which is a little odd. It is just….. he does not appear to be the sort of person who would rent a shop from someone like myself, although I am probably damning my own name in so saying.”

“Like banking, your line of business must require a certain reliance on assessing the true nature of people that you deal with”, Holmes observed. “What does he look like?” 

“I have never met him”, Mr. Herbert confessed. “He is a recluse, so I was told by his daughter Matilda whom I have met from time to time when she comes to my offices to pay the rent. She is about twenty years of age but looks and dresses quite a lot older, which I also find curious. She told my secretary that her father had suffered a great trauma in recent years that had made him wish to completely withdraw from society, but that they still have to make a living. Though she did not say how.”

“Does the shop building have living accommodation?” Holmes asked.

“Not as such”, Mr. Herbert said. “The upstairs rooms are rented separately, and accessed by their own entrance from Barley Mews, or rather a path from that cul-de-sac which ends behind the shops. The downstairs does possess a small room at the back with a single bed in it, but that bed takes up half the floor-space. I doubt that anyone could live there for any length of time, and I would know if they were so doing as it would breach the terms of the lease.”

Holmes smiled knowingly.

“Thank you, Mr. Herbert”, he said. “You have been most informative.”

Had he really?

“In return, may I ask whether you expect my tenant to be moving out any time in the foreseeable future?” our host asked. 

“At the moment, I would say the odds are that you will be looking for another tenant”, Holmes said. “Sooner rather than later, in my opinion. I promise that I will keep you informed as to how my investigations proceed. Good day, sir, and thank you for your time.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“What makes you think that Mr. Hafford will soon be moving out?” I asked as we took a cab back into the city. “Do you suspect that he is the thief?”

“Yes and no”, he said enigmatically.

Sometimes I wondered why I had missed him!

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The third of the three suspects, Mr. John Masham, lived outside the capital in Elm Park, Essex. Our cab-ride was followed by a train journey and a further cab-ride before we reached our destination. To my surprise it was a school. And not just any school.

“Mr. Masham is a teacher”, Holmes explained as we waited to be shown into the headmistress’s office. “He was Lady Anastasia’s teacher in her final year in Ireland, and came over with her to England. I believe that she, or at least her family, stood as referees to help secure him a job here. He was a friend of her father, which is the reason that he was one of the people entrusted with her finances.”

“Maybe unjustifiably”, I added.

“We shall see”, he said. He looked at me with a strange glint in his eyes. “Your presence today will be particularly valuable.”

Annoyingly it was that moment that the secretary returned, so I could not press him as to what he meant. Brooding somewhat (no, I was not sulking!), I followed him into the headmistress' study.

Miss Ivy Haverstock was a Character, and I use the capital quite correctly in this instance. Her school was justly famous; people from across the capital were desperate to get their daughters into St. Ætheldreda's. It was not just the quality of the education, but that everyone knew that she ran the tightest of tight ships. Indiscipline on behalf of any girl was grounds for immediate ejection, along with the loss of the rest of that term’s fees. And money or status did not secure you an advantage; prospective parents had to sit through an interview with Miss Haverstock first, and if she did not like you (as one minor royal couple had found out to their shock the year before), your child did not get in. And that was before she interviewed the actual child!

I felt certain (and possibly a little smug) that this was one member of the fairer sex upon whom Holmes’ charms would fall like the proverbial seed on stony ground. However, I did not have the opportunity to test that theory, as the moment she saw me enter behind Holmes, her face lit up.

“Doctor Watson!” she beamed.

I immediately felt nervous. Had I treated her or one of her relatives at some time in the past, and if so, should I be remembering her in some way? Fortunately Holmes came to my rescue.

“Miss Haverstock is a great admirer of your works, doctor”, he said with a knowing smile. “Thank you for agreeing to see us at such short notice, madam.”

“Not at all”, she said. “Your fame resounds across London, and the capital is agog to hear how you escaped from the clutches of Death himself.”

“I am not writing just now”, I said apologetically. “But I would be delighted to send you some notes that describe what truly happened, and one day – when I feel able to write it – a copy of the book itself.”

 _(In fact my muse would quite desert me over the coming years, and it would be nearly a decade before the public learnt the details of Holmes' return in_ The Empty House _, although I did indeed write a précis of events for Miss Haverstock)._

“I am here today on business, I am afraid”, Holmes said. “I wish to ask you about an employee of yours.”

Her face darkened.

“Mr. John Masham”, she said. _“Indeed!”_

Men have probably been hung for less than was in that single word. She took a deep breath.

“Normally I would not even have considered employing a” – she took a deep breath before uttering the awful word – “a Man for a post in my little school. But Mr. Masham's references were excellent, and I had another teacher have to withdraw because her husband insisted that she should not have a paid post!”

I suppressed a smile at the ill-concealed scorn in her voice.

“Hence I decided to give him a trial for one term” she continued. “Initially, things went very well, but of late….”

She stopped.

“What has happened to concern you? “ Holmes asked. “Rest assured that the doctor and I will be discreet in any inquiries that we have to pursue in this area.”

She nodded.

“He is becoming unreliable”, she said, sounding almost angry. “As I am sure you gentlemen appreciate, teaching is a profession with a relatively low number of set hours, but my employees are expected to put in much of their own time for the good of the children. I demand a lot of everyone who attends this school, children and staff.”

_(I should add at this point that Miss Haverstock was known to pay her staff well above the standard rate for teachers. And despite that fact that the school had not then been in existence for that many years, several of her alumni had already gone on to great success in their chosen fields of work)._

“And Mr. Masham has not been fulfilling these requirements?” Holmes asked.

“He has not”, she said sorrowfully. “It is fortunate that when I extended his contract, it was only for one further year; hence it expires this summer. The way that matters stand I am not inclined to renew it.”

Holmes thought for a moment.

“If the case that I am investigating turns out as I expect”, he said, “I feel compelled to advise you that Mr. Masham is likely to either resign in order to concentrate on certain other matters that will require his absolute attention, or that he will once more give you his full focus. I would expect a resolution of matters one way or another quite soon, most likely in around one week's time.”

“Thank you”, she smiled. “That is most helpful.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

We said goodbye to Miss Haverstock and returned to Baker Street, tired after a long day’s travelling.

“What next?” I asked, after a delicious dinner of kippers from the ever-dependable Mrs. Hudson.

“I wish to talk with one Miss Jane Grey, a maid at Lady Anastasia’s house”, he said. “She has her half-day off next Monday, and always travels down to visit her grandmother in Putney. Miss Richards says that she dines each time at the “Rhubarb & Custard” restaurant in the High Street there, so we shall intercept her there, and obtain a flavour of the household and the other two suspects.”

“You suspect Miss O'Flanagan or Mr. O’Reilly?” I asked, surprised.

“I suspect everybody!”

I chuckled at that.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The following Monday we decamped across London to the border with Surrey and the small town of Putney. The “Rhubarb & Custard” was, mercifully, far better than its name had implied, and we ordered two coffees before making ourselves comfortable.

It was about half an hour before a plain-looking young girl in a pale blue dress entered, and ordered a cup of tea and a single cake. Typically she sat about as far away from us as was physically possible. Holmes gestured to me, and we got up and walked over to her.

“Miss Jane Grey?” Holmes said politely.

The girl looked up in surprise, and an anxious expression crossed her face.

“I am the consulting detective Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and this is my friend and associate, Doctor John Watson”, he said, his voice low and even as if he felt any sudden movement or exclamation might have startled her. “May we be allowed to join you?”

She clearly recognized his name, and looked most astonished.

Was he smirking? He was, damnation!

“I read in the newspapers of your great return”, she said, her eyes alight. “And you wish to talk to _me?”_

She sounded frankly incredulous. We seated ourselves at her table, and Holmes ordered a plate of cakes. He waited for the waitress to return with them before beginning.

“I wish to have your opinion on certain matters involving your place of work”, he said, helping himself to a cream puff which he proceeded to get all down his chin. I handed him a napkin and he smiled his thanks at me. “Of course, I am fully aware of your loyalty to your employer, but it is she over whom I am concerned. I understand she has both a friend and a relative living with her, and in connection with a certain matter that I am investigating – I am certain that I can rely upon your absolute discretion – I would truly value your opinion on that lady and that gentleman.”

She visibly preened.

“Well, Mr. O’Reilly is certainly that all right”, she said, blushing a little as she spoke. “Handsome as the devil, that’s what Miss Flanagan calls him, but a perfect gentleman in his manners. And not at all grasping like _some_ as I could mention; my lady wanted to make a settlement on him because he has no money of his own, but she had to work really hard to get him to accept it.”

But not hard enough, I thought as my pen flew across the page. I caught the slightest twitch of Holmes’ lips and knew that he was thinking much the same.

“Now Miss O'Flanagan”, and the maid’s tone changed abruptly at this point, “ _she’s_ another kettle of fish. The 'Red Leech' we all call her down below because that's her favourite colour, as well as that of her hair. Always wanting money for this dress, that new pair of gloves, or the other ticket to the theatre. She has some money of her own I suppose, but she lives well above her means.”

I did a quick drawing of a cat next to my notes. 

“I see”, Holmes said. He hesitated. “My next question is a little indelicate perhaps, so I will fully understand if you prefer not to answer. Would you say that Lady Anastasia herself is demanding of these two people?”

That clearly caught the maid off-guard, and I could see her trying to frame an answer that would defend her mistress.

“They do get days to themselves, sir”, she said defensively. “Not regular days like the staff do – Lady Anastasia is _exceedingly_ generous to us servants – but provided that she does not need them for something special, she does not mind if they are not with her. And she never takes them with her when she goes to see the duke.”

“Does His Grace ever visit the house?” Holmes asked. She shook her head.

“I only know that he came the once, sir”, she said. “Florrie – the between-maid and such a terrible gossip – claimed they had argued because the duke said she had sharp teeth, which I thought was weird. Her teeth look normal enough to me.”

“'How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child'” I quoted. “From “King Lear”, the Shakespeare play.”

Miss Grey looked at me, clearly impressed. I may or may not have preened a little.

“Lady Anastasia does like the good things in life”, she admitted. 

“Hmm”, Holmes said, apparently deep in thought. “One final question, if I may be allowed. In your opinion, does your employer spend more time with her friend or her step-brother?”

“Definitely Miss O'Flanagan, sir”, the maid said firmly. “No doubt about that.”

Holmes smiled and called the waitress over.

“Thank you for your time and patience, Miss Grey”, he said. “The waitress will box up the cakes that you do not wish to eat, so you can give them to whomsoever you wish. I am sure that I need not impress on you that you must not discuss with anyone at the house anything that we have discussed here today?”

“Of course not, sir!” she said, looking shocked.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

I waited until we were in our cab heading back to Baker Street before I said it.

“You do know that she will tattle to every servant in the house that she has had coffee with the famous Mr. Sherlock Holmes?” I said.

“And his equally famous medical scribe”, Holmes chuckled. “Indeed. It is one of the things that I am counting on.”

I stared at him in confusion. 

“Are we going to Lady Anastasia's house?” I asked. He shook his head.

“In the circumstances, it would be better for her if we broke the bad news to her away from the house”, he said. “We shall invite her to Baker Street.”

“But are you not afraid that the criminal will escape?” I asked.

“Somehow I do not think that is an option”, he chuckled.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The next day however seemed to prove him wrong. Late that afternoon we received a telegram from Mr. Herbert informing us that the few personal items in Mr. Hafford’s offices had been removed, and that his daughter had reported him missing to the local police as he had not returned home the previous night. In the days that followed strenuous efforts were made to locate him, but all that was found was a ring of his, close to the soon-to-be-opened Tower Bridge. It seemed that he had either fallen into the river or had been attacked and his body thrown in subsequently.

Holmes’ inquiries a little more information during this time, though I did not see its significance. Although she would not come into control of her own finances for another two and a half years Lady Anastasia had on reaching the age of eighteen been allowed to choose one financial adviser for herself, whilst the current duke had chosen the other two. Mr. Hafford, who had been a minor landowner near her ancestral lands in Ireland, had been her choice. Until last year a priest with links to the Wellington family had been the third person running her affairs, but a sudden and prolonged illness had led him to resign his part and the duke had appointed Mr. Fitzpatrick in his stead.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

It was exactly one week after Mr. Hafford's disappearance that Lady Anastasia Wellington came to visit us in Baker Street, accompanied by Miss O'Flanagan. The two girls bore a passing resemblance to each other especially in the red hair they shared, though Miss Flanagan was taller and thinner. Holmes bade them both sit down and smiled in welcome.

“Ladies”, he said politely, “I would like to tell you of a certain case that has come to my attention lately, in which I think you would find something of interest. It concerns fraud and theft at the very highest level of English society and crimes for which, should the case ever come to court, at least one of the perpetrators would be guaranteed a long time in jail.”

I noted that Miss O'Flanagan looked decidedly nervous but Lady Anastasia was as cool as someone of her class should be. She nodded graciously, and Holmes continued.

“It concerns a certain high-born lady who, much to her _chagrin_ , is prevented from accessing the full wealth of her estate until she reaches what she considers to be a great age”, Holmes said. “However, she is as resourceful as certain members of her family have proven in the past if in the pursuit of less laudable goals and finds a way around these obstacles. Being allowed to appoint one of her financial guardians, she persuades a close friend to partake in her ruse.”

“Most interesting”, Lady Anastasia said, whilst her friend's face was increasingly matching the colour of her hair. “Pray continue.”

“The ruse involves the friend pretending to be the daughter of the chosen guardian”, Holmes went on. “This friend, ostensibly acting on her father’s behalf, rents a small shop some distance from the house, and places a few personal items in it. She makes sure that the rent is always paid on time, and all proceeds well. A few forged signatures, and she and the lady who planned the scheme are successful in slowly removing funds from her estate so that the lady can live in a style that she considers fitting. Even if she is robbing her future to pay for her present.”

Lady Anastasia nodded, but this time said nothing.

“Then the first problem arises”, Holmes said. “A new man is appointed to help run the lady's finances, and he is sharp enough to see what is afoot. Fortunately for the lady however he is also very highly-strung and a set of cunningly-arranged pranks cause him to retire to a hospital in order to recover. The danger, it seems, has been averted.”

“However, the lady then learns to her horror that a maid in the house has been questioned by a famous consulting detective. She acts quickly. The non-existent financial guardian disappears, apparently drowned if we are to believe a ring identified by his ‘daughter’. They must lie low for a while, but surely the fuss will soon die down.”

Lady Anastasia sighed heavily.

“Such a case would require a strong degree of proof against so noble a lady in society”, she said, but I could hear the tremor in her voice.

“Proof such as the friend being identified by the landlord who rented the building to the financial advisor, even though there was no way they could have met?” Holmes asked. “Proof such as the friend’s fingerprints in that office, where they had no cause to be? Proof such as the daughter, who went to the police as Miss Matilda Hafford yet could easily be placed before those same policeman under her real name of Miss Maureen O'Flanagan? Proof such as the fact that a certain Mr. Peyton Hafford is actually alive and well having emigrated to the United States some four years ago, and is prepared to provide by telegraph a sworn statement to that effect? Proof such that Mr. John Masham has been acquiring of late, to the detriment of his own job as he works for the estate that you value so little?”

Her eyes narrowed in anger.

“That money is _mine!”_ she hissed. “My family have no right to withhold it from me!”

Holmes sat back.

“I intend to inform His Grace of my findings”, he said firmly. “Doubtless he will take his own measures to curb your excesses, Lady Anastasia. You, Miss O'Flanagan, I would expect him to dispatch back to your native Ireland so you are as far away from your partner in crime as possible.”

Lady Anastasia shot to her feet.

“Maureen!” she barked. “Come!”

She swept from the room in a flurry of crinoline and was gone, her friend scurrying after her. I stared at Holmes in amazement.

“The ‘Red Leech’ was in fact plural”, he said with a smile. “Perhaps one day, you will be able to publish this case.”

I really hoped so. The thought of laying open that greedy scion of a noble house to public scrutiny was a most pleasant one.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
